Clergy shirts, observed

At an ecumenical gathering today, I observed Episcopal clergy wearing the following:

• a short-sleeved peach-colored shirt with insert tab collar
• a Panama-style salmon-colored shirt with insert tab collar
• a long-sleeved white shirt with navy pinstripes and full collar
• two short-sleeved black shirts with full collar
• a Panama-style black shirt with insert tab collar.

It made me sympathetic to Jared's comment about "trying to look good and mix it up a bit," though I do worry that by Jared's logic I don't get to vary my pants either.

Of clergy shirts

What do you think about clergy shirts in colors other than black? (For deacons and priests, I mean.)

Oh, how I love making charts

I returned home from the mountain and proceeded to fritter away the better part of a week -- something I could ill afford to do, since by the start of classes on August 25 I have to write

• a book chapter on Aquinas (4000 words),
  
• an encyclopedia article on Scotus (5000 words),
• dictionary entries on Scotus and voluntarism (500 words each), and
  
• three papers for my STM classes (two from this summer and one left undone from last summer).

And there are sundry other tasks as well.

So -- as a final piece of procrastination -- I made up a list of everything that had to get done and estimated how many hours of work each item would take. Then I made a chart for the next four weeks, dividing my work time into three-hour blocks and assigning bits of the tasks to the blocks. I then printed the chart and posted it on the bulletin board in my study and entered all the details into my Google Calendar. I am, sadly, of a temperament to find that whole exercise quite enjoyable -- and I did.

Whether I will actually manage to get all these things done is, of course, another question. But I can report that on my first day, today, I managed to complete my assigned work -- even a little ahead of schedule. Let's hope this bodes well for me.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast

The church music conference is over, and I'm back at home, tired from all the driving but still enjoying the glow of a wonderful Sunday Eucharist. The choir sang William Harris's "Behold the tabernacle of God" and Edgar Bainton's "And I saw a new heaven" (sung here by the choir of King's College, Cambridge), and it was absolutely spectacular.



I wasn't singing, though, because I had the privilege of serving as deacon. Walking down the center aisle of All Saints' Chapel, holding aloft the Gospel Book near the end of a procession of 150 singers, was deeply moving. And, well, you know how the liturgy goes. It was all wonderful.

One little moment from before the service: as I was rehearsing the Prayers of the People with the choir, David Hurd was walking around the nave, listening. When we finished, he gave me a smile and a nod of approval. I'm still glowing from that.

A question about the canons

I've always assumed the canons on clergy licensing (III.7.6(a) and III.9.6) meant that one has two months from the time one sets foot in a new diocese to minister without a license from the Bishop of the diocese. But reading them more carefully, I notice that that's not quite what they say. III.7.6(a), which is the one that applies to me as a deacon, says this (quoting in full):

A Deacon may not serve as Deacon for more than two months in any Diocese other than the Diocese in which the Deacon is canonically resident unless the Bishop of the other Diocese shall have granted a license to the Deacon to serve in that Diocese.

This suggests to me that the clock begins to tick, not when one enters the new diocese, but when one begins to serve there.

Now here's why this makes a difference. After my ordination I returned to the Diocese of My Sojourn on June 5. But I left again almost immediately after a brief stay in which my only ecclesial activity was as a tenor. So I have not actually "served as a Deacon" in the DoMS, and I probably won't do so until July 30. Under those circumstances, do I need a license as of August 5, or do I have until September 30?

I'm hoping, of course, that none of this will matter because the Bishop of My Sojourn will return from Lambeth in a favorable frame of mind. But it doesn't hurt to be prepared.

Wippell's would be so proud

After Evensong tonight:

Chorister A (to me): You definitely win the prize for the best vestments.
Chorister B: I didn't know there was a competition.
Chorister A: Honey, there's always a competition.

A cheery thought

I look back at my posts from the first time I attended the Sewanee Church Music Conference three years ago, and I hardly recognize that guy. All that business about avoiding meals so that I wouldn't have to socialize! I'm not saying I've been the life of the party, but I've been perfectly comfortable and have enjoyed great conversations with all sorts of people. Could it be that at forty-one I'm finally maturing socially? There's an interesting thought.

A sad note

It is unfortunately very clear from our rehearsals that most people aren't doing Anglican chant these days, or at least aren't doing it well. But when it's done well -- oh, is there anything to compare to it?

*sigh*

I realize that in my present state I am apt to fall into supposing that a correct interpretation of Schmanselm is the chief end of the human person. But surely it is not entirely unreasonable for me to be irritated that at tonight's Faculty Forum the conference chaplain -- a learned and genial fellow of whom I am eager to think well -- repeatedly misrepresented the great Archbishop's views and made him responsible for all the worst errors of Atonement theory.

Couldn't we just leave Schmanselm out of this? Why defame the poor man?

An anecdote from James Litton

Told this morning at the church music conference:

The great 19th-century Czech composer Antonin Dvořák was visiting an English cathedral for the first time. After Evensong someone went up to him and said, "So, Maestro, what did you think?"

"Very fine," he answered. "But why did they keep singing that silly tune for ten minutes?"

He didn't really get the point of Anglican chant.

And then, after a wry pause, Dr Litton added:

Now he does.

From the Book of Very Seldom Services

A brief form for the opening of a package containing snazzy vestments

The Officiant reads the following or some other suitable short lesson

Sirach 45:7

He made an everlasting covenant with him,
and gave him the priesthood of the people.
He blessed him with splendid vestments,
and put a glorious robe upon him.

Then shall the package be opened and the vestment(s) shown unto the people. Then follow the Suffrages:

V. O Lord, bestow thy splendor upon us;
R. And grant us thy beauty.
V. Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day without polyester.
R. And let not the tacky be forgotten.
V. Endue thy ministers with elegance.
R. And make thy chosen clergy glorious.
V. Let not those who behold these vestments grow envious.
R. Well, maybe a little.

The service concludes with this prayer:

Almighty God, who by thy servant Percy Dearmer hast taught us that surplices should be full and chasubles well-draped: Increase in us the love of splendid vesture, that we might not affront the eyes of thy people with hideous colours and unseemly designs. Grant that the whole Church may see and know that things which were unpressed are being ironed, and things which were poorly cut are being remade. Do thou by these vestments put us in mind of the beauty of those heavenly places where there is no rayon or dacron, but silk everlasting. Amen.

Double duty

The Sewanee Church Music Conference began today; the Advanced Degrees program continues through Wednesday. This afternoon I missed half a class to attend a rehearsal, and tomorrow I'll miss a rehearsal to serve at the noon Eucharist at the Chapel of the Apostles. Otherwise, it looks as though I'll be able to do both activities justice.

I get to serve as deacon at the festival Eucharist on Sunday. It appears that there is not a green dalmatic to be found anywhere on the Domain. Can you believe that?

Why I thought it would be a good idea to serve as deacon at a sung liturgy in front of a gaggle of liturgics professors and well-known musicians escapes me.

The Lambeth Power List

The Telegraph has a list of the 50 most influential figures in the Anglican Church (by which they mean, of course, the Anglican Communion). You can start here and work your way up. It will not surprise anyone who pays close attention to these matters that the list describes Gene Robinson (#4) as having been "appointed."

More GOE tips

This time from someone who has both taken them and assessed them.

Odds and ends of Sewanee life

There comes a time when one simply cannot face another meal in McClurg Dining Hall (the Temple of Gluttony, as I like to think of it). So last night I headed out on my own to Pearl's with Leave it to Psmith in hand. It was a first-rate meal, and my waiter made up for somewhat inattentive service by being very pleasant to look at. Perhaps he was avoiding me because I was visibly enjoying my Wodehouse and doubtless looked slightly crazed.

This morning I decided that a nice walk would accomplish two very important goals (viz., helping me lose weight and postponing work on my exegetical paper on John 14). I left the Spanish House under bright blue skies.

About half an hour later, as I was walking along Beckwith's Point Trail, I thought I heard thunder. Couldn't be, though. The patches of sky I could see through the trees were still blue. So I kept walking.

No, that was definitely thunder. Better turn around.

Hmm. The sky is looking dark, and the thunder is sounding louder.

I emerge at Green's View to see that I am about to get soaked -- except that, as we know, on the mount of the Lord it will be provided. Two couples in a big SUV with Bradley County plates have got out to take pictures. I offer to snap the pictures so they can all be in them at once; they offer to take me home before I get drenched.

We pass by the golf course, which is quickly emptying. We make it back to the Spanish House just a minute or two before the heavens open.

Blogging Lambeth

I'm doing my best these days to make this a no-Anglican-unpleasantness zone, and even a Lambeth-free zone, figuring that the best thing for my spiritual well-being is to pray for the bishops but otherwise leave current Anglican affairs alone. But I've added this Lambeth Journal blog to my Google reader so as to keep myself informed.

The blogging bishops are

Bishop Sean Rowe of Northwest Pennsylvania
Bishop Laura Ahrens of Connecticut
Bishop Marc Andrus of California
Bishop Larry Benfield of Arkansas
Bishop Sergio Carranza of Los Angeles
Bishop Zache Duracin of Haiti
Bishop Neff Powell of Southwestern Virginia
Bishop Nedi Rivera of Olympia.

Regional office up and running

I can't say that I really understand all this regional office business, but since this is one of my former bishops moving into an office next to one of my former parishes, I'm vaguely interested.

Acknowledging, of course, that praise is beside the point . . .

My singing the Prayers of the People yesterday (preparation time: five seconds) drew almost as favorable a response as my preaching last week (preparation time: hours upon hours).

A brief observation

A brief observation inspired by Fr Haller's astute comment on the Bishop of Durham's comment on the GAFCON statement:

Why is that parity-of-reasoning arguments are so much less frequent among theologians than they are among philosophers? Since parity of reasoning is to the logical realm what the Golden Rule is to the moral, one might expect Christian theologians to have frequent recourse to it.

Amaziah, Amos, or Jesus?

Amos 7:10-17

Matthew 9:1-8

Chapel of the Apostles
Sewanee, Tennessee
3 July 2008

“Your wife shall become a prostitute in the city,
and your sons and your daughters shall fall by the sword,
and your land shall be parceled out by line;
you yourself shall die in an unclean land.”

Wow. Back in Amos’s day they really knew how to call down God’s judgment on their enemies. Don’t you wish you could really cut loose like that on that Vestry member who opposes the strategic plan, the Examining Chaplain who failed your perfectly respectable answer on the Scripture set, the minion of Satan who decided that this would be a good arrangement for the chairs?

But of course we’re Christians, so we need to speak as Jesus would.

“Woe to you, hypocrites!” “Whitewashed tombs!” “Brood of vipers!”

Hmm. This line of argument is making me nervous. Maybe we should back up in the Amos lesson to see how we got here.

Amos has been recounting his visions and the words that have come to him from the Lord. And Amaziah, the priest of Bethel, has had enough. You don’t think Amos might have been focusing particularly on the idolatrous worship carried out by the priest of Bethel, do you? Of course he had. But Amaziah conveniently neglects to inform the king of the huge personal affront. That would only undermine his case, and wants to pitch it as strong as he can.

Of course we never do this in the Church. We never dress up threats to our personal power and well-being as offenses against the kingdom.

That’s Amaziah’s first dishonesty. Then there’s a second. “Amos has conspired against you,” he tells the king. But Amos had done no such thing. He had spoken the prophetic word that God had given him, and he had done so openly. Conspiracies don’t take place in the open; conspiracies are hatched and carried out in secret. But Amaziah knows that he’ll never get the king sufficiently worked up by being honest about what Amos has actually done, so he makes up a more serious charge.

Of course we never do this in the Church. When we can’t get people sufficiently worked up by honest criticism of those whom we see as our adversaries, we never bear false witness against them.

Amos doesn’t tell us how the king responded. Perhaps he was not much moved by Amaziah’s flimsy charges. In any event, Amaziah proceeds without any directive from the king, without any legitimate authority to do what he does.

Of course we never do this in the Church. We never strike out on our own, scorning duly constituted authority and making ourselves lone rangers for a message of our own devising.

So Amaziah goes to Amos and tells him to stop prophesying. Go back to Judah where you came from – they’ll actually enjoy hearing about how terrible Israel is. But keep out of Bethel, which is my territory – I mean, the king’s territory. Yeah, that’s it. The king’s territory.

And Amos replies,

“I am no prophet, nor a prophet’s son; but I am a herdsman, and a dresser of sycamore trees, and the Lord took me from following the flock, and the Lord said to me, ‘Go, prophesy to my people Israel.’”

Or something like that, anyway – this is a notorious textual crux – but the gist is unmistakable. I’m not in this for profit, Amos is saying, and I’m not in this because it’s the family business. I’m in this because God dragged me away from my ordinary inoffensive line of work and told me to prophesy. To Israel. I’ve been called. That is the authority of my message, an authority that you cannot supersede and that I cannot deny.

And because you have tried to supersede it – because you have ordered me to deny it – the judgment that God has pronounced upon Israel will fall with special vehemence upon you:

“Your wife shall become a prostitute in the city,
and your sons and your daughters shall fall by the sword,
and your land shall be parceled out by line;
you yourself shall die in an unclean land.”

So feel free to use language like that with your Vestry member, the Examining Chaplain, the chair minion – if you’re absolutely sure that you have the authority of Amos. Because of course in the Church, we’re never like Amaziah.

But on the off chance that you should doubt your prophetic authority, the Gospel speaks of authority of another kind. “They were filled with awe, and they glorified God, who had given such authority to human beings”: not the authority to pronounce judgment, but the authority to pronounce forgiveness. Human beings, plural. That’s us, the Church; but especially those of you to whom God has “given power and commandment . . . to declare and pronounce to his people, being penitent, the absolution and remission of their sins.” This is an authority that is not authenticated by destruction, but by restoration and healing and wholeness.

When confronted with those to whom prophecy is conspiracy and a word of grace is blasphemy, we can be Amaziah. Or we can be Amos. Or we can be Jesus.

Look to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted. And go with joy to feed on his broken body, and to drink the blood that speaks so graciously.

Checklist for tomorrow's sermon

✔ Gratuitous quotations from the Letter to the Hebrews
✔ Subtle allusion to a favorite hymn
✔ Concluding Eucharistic exhortation
✔ Heavy-handed quoting of language from a Prayer Book liturgy

Am I becoming a little too mannered?

Probably. But to balance things out I'm preaching on the Old Testament (which I never do, but Jared made me feel guilty about that) and calling the person who rearranged the chairs in the Chapel of the Apostles a "minion of Satan." Should be fun.

Missing the narrative

So many good stories and no way to tell them. I don't want to start reporting conversations with identifiable people, and this is a small enough crowd that just about everyone is identifiable. Plus, there would be a breathless I-heard-Madison-say-that-she-heard-Cody-say-that-he-thought-you-were-cute quality to it. The loss to blogdom is, of course, incalculable.

My one post yesterday was written during class, I'm afraid. I rather zoned out during that whole two hours (not that the post took two hours to write -- but once you mentally leave the room, it's hard to get back). I'll have to do better today. I sent off the corrected page proofs for the Schmanselm book yesterday afternoon, an enterprise that cost $30: $13.50 for photocopying the 90 (!!) corrected pages in the seminary students' common room, and $16.50 for overnight mail to the press. I am really glad to have that job behind me. The first time through the page proofs -- 310 pages, reading the whole thing aloud so as to keep myself from skimming -- I found so many mistakes that I felt I had to do the whole thing a second time. So I did. And I found more errors the second time through. All told there were 25 printer's errors and 75 author's alterations -- almost all of the latter being mistakes that the "copyeditor" had failed to notice. (So had the author, of course, but he doesn't care to emphasize that part.) At this point I am so sick of Schmanselm I can hardly express it.

And I'm not quite done yet, since I'll have to look over the index when it gets done. But the end is tantalizingly close.

Now I can stew full-time about the sermon I'm suppose to preach tomorrow.

The new GAFCON logo

I commented before on the original GAFCON logo.

Here's the new one.

I'm not sure I understand this one either. Uniti is either masculine or neuter genitive singular or masculine nominative plural. If we read it as a genitive, the logo reads "The truth of a united . . ." But a united what? The most sensible possibilities -- church, communion -- are feminine, so they're right out. Body, perhaps? That's neuter in Latin. Anyway, it would be odd to use the genitive by itself unless the noun were obvious, and I think by now it's clear that the noun is not obvious.

So let's try masculine nominative plural. In that case we have two words functioning independently: 'truth' and 'united [dudes]'. Anyone else find that awkward?

And yes, I'll admit that 'dudes' is needlessly pejorative; let's go with 'people'. Still awkward.

This version isn't crazy, like the first one, but I do find it a little mystifying.